On the edge of some woodland, there was a hill

And it was brill—

Near where I grew up til age 18, in Manchester.

 

Its gradient

WAS radiant.

And we loved nothing more

Than whizzing down

For more

Speed

On our bikes

Freed

From the constraints of our kid-bods

(Which granted, were a LOT LESS constraining than our adult bods!)

But nonetheless.

Kid-bod + two wheels?

= ALL the feels.

 

On this particular day

Far away—

In both time and place

(Because I haven’t shown my face

Since I left

Which you’d never guess--

Since I still do have

A very convincing Vera Duckworth intonation)

 

Stood astride my bike, I received the command-like order—

From my so-called brother

‘So-called’ because of the bother

He was about to exact

By stating: "When I shout BRAKE!! YOU BRAKE!!!!?? OK??? THIS IS THE PACT!!!!!!”

 

What IS this new game???

My brain

Immediately thought to itself—

Jazzed with anticipation.

 

Off we both whizzed down like proper aces

Wind rushing against our laughing faces.

‘BRAAAAAAAAAAAKE!!!!!!!!!’

Three quarters of the way down came the command—

My little hands

Pressing hard on both brakes

Only to take

Me over the top of the handle bars.

 

Bloody good job there were no cars—

Coming down the busy road I careered into

Otherwise I’d have been toast—

And now a ghost

Sat wearing my cute pink ghost shoes

On this lovely sunny Monday morning.